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FacebookRemote Viewing the Five Ponds Wilderness
Just like smelling pheromones in the armpits,
there has always been evidence, the human
system knowing the future. A series of arbitrary
numbers.
Walking out into the unknown depths, we can’t
think of these things as being separate. Like Thoreau
said, “the old upon the walls…”
There are no bodies without energy, and there is no
energy without consciousness. Awareness enhanced,
activated senses, the other things appearing even we
are not supposed to.
Heralded by the rain. Clutching a clump of fur in our
talons. Just insect-eaters feeding in fissures and furrows
on the bark of Weymouth pine.
Yet made from a spiritual sinew and holy rocks from the shells
of angels.
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What does this have to do with the Five Ponds Wilderness?
Actually, I think it refers to the Trump-Biden affair.
What does your comment have to do with poetry?